Vivian, Midnight Call Girl
Iron Orchids
Danielle Norman
Copyright © 2020 by Danielle Norman
All rights reserved.
Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission from either the author and or the above named publisher of this book with the exception for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction.
The name Danielle Norman® is a registered Trademark
Iron Orchids™️ is a pending trademark.
Contents
Prologue
1. Vivian
2. Aaron
3. Vivian
4. Aaron
5. Vivian
6. Vivian
7. Aaron
8. Vivian
9. Aaron
10. Aaron
11. Aaron
12. Aaron
13. Aaron
14. Vivian
15. Aaron
16. Vivian
17. Aaron
18. Vivian
19. Vivian
20. Vivian
21. Vivian
22. Aaron
23. Vivian
Epilogue
Now Available
Binge Read Me
Box Set Madness
Sneak Peek—Sadie, Doctor Accident
A Word From Danielle
Find Me
Meet Danielle
Also By Danielle
Thank You
Vivian, Midnight Call Girl
Drunk dialing at it's finest...
All it took was a couple bottles of champagne...
And a fully charged cellphone,
For me to go from widow to call girl.
Talking to a stranger in the middle of the night was the push I needed.
To feel something again.
Something safe.
It’s not like I will ever run into him.
We don’t even know each other... yet.
Aaron Skye returns my call the next day,
Sending my well-ordered world for a spin.
Now I'm sober.
After years in the shadows,
I'm starting to feel alive. A sense of normalcy.
Unfortunately Aaron is not who I had imagined.
And his life is anything but normal.
Can I put the phone down and step into his world long enough to realize,
That what started out as careless whispers has smoldered into something more?
A wrong number, could be my Mr. Right.
This is dedicated to all the fucking authors who find it fun and easy to write sex scenes.
FYI, I dislike you big time, I mean huge, gigantic (and there is no jealousy there, lol).
Especially Elle Christensen who steps in to save my deplorable stick-it-in-wham-bam-thank-you-mam sex scenes.
I think Amish Romance is calling my name...hmmm?
“Wrinkles will only go where the smiles have been”
— Jimmy Buffet
Prologue
Vivian
Four years ago . . .
“Don’t get up, baby.” Eric leaned over to kiss me. “Today you have got to make a decision about where you want to go. Honey, we are less than six months away from our five-year wedding anniversary, and I don’t want to spend it here.”
“I know, I know. I promise,” I said as I leaned up to meet him halfway. Eric and I had been high school sweethearts, even though he was two years older. Even when he went off to college, he came home every weekend to see me. Our love was a forever type of love; sometimes I had to pinch myself to prove that this was my life and not some dream. “Can I make you something to eat before you go into work?”
“Sleep, I’ve got it.” Eric kissed me again. “I love you.” The smell of Irish Spring soap lingered even after he pulled away.
“Love you too. Be safe.”
Eric paused in the open doorway of our bedroom. “Always.”
I closed my eyes and nestled back into my warm covers to get a few more hours of shut-eye. Sliding one hand over to his pillow, I squeezed it and then tucked it under my chin. The cold cotton was soothing as I fell back to sleep.
I sat straight up to the sound of my doorbell and then glanced at the clock on my nightstand. Shit, it was after nine.
I jumped out of bed just as my doorbell rang again. “I’m coming.” I raced through the house as I finger-combed my hair. I pulled open the door and paused at the sight of two of Eric’s best friends and fellow deputies. They were standing there, not smiling. “Hey, Kayson, Carter . . .” They didn’t say anything, it all happened in slow motion. Kayson reached forward, my sleep-addled mind cleared, my knees buckled, and my world crashed down around me.
The black dress that had fit me two weeks ago now hung loose as I took my seat in the front row under the large tent, closest to my husband.
Motorcycles lined the path that wound through the cemetery. Two riders from every force in the state came for the funeral; it was protocol for when another motorcycle deputy fell. I slowly took it all in.
“It’s smudged.”
Leo, one of my dearest friends, leaned in and whispered, “What’s smudged?”
“His casket, look.” I pointed to the large, glaring spot. “He always liked things polished.” I turned to Kayson, who had stayed close all day just in case I needed anything. “Do you have a handkerchief?”
He pulled a crisp linen square from his breast pocket and handed it over. I got up and moved closer to Eric and began to rub in a circular motion just like I used to do with his shoes. “I know how you always liked things shiny, there, isn’t that better? Oh, let me straighten these flowers.” I sniffled and tried to clear the tears from my eyes. “I’m sorry that I hadn’t decided on a location for our vacation. I’ll decide now, come back. I know where I want to go, I do, I promise. I want to go wherever you are. Please.” Gentle hands wrapped around me.
“Shhh, I know. Come on.” She pulled me back and inched me toward my chair.
I didn’t look around to see who all was watching me, watching the pitiful excuse for a woman. I glanced up at my rescuer’s eyes. “Stella?” She was another of my closest friends. She and Leo had been pillars of strength for me.
“Yep, I’m right here,” Stella answered. Kayson moved down a seat and gave Stella his chair. Leo leaned in, and the two sheltered me as Captain Getty moved to the front and began speaking.
I curled into myself when the bagpipes ruffled the air, and the notes of Amazing Grace rippled deep to my core. I somehow found a way to make myself even smaller when the twenty-one bells rang, each ding echoed on in my ears even after the guard had tolled the last chime. But I slid to the ground, a withered piece of who I once was, my heart bleeding when dispatch called out through Eric’s radio.
“Thirteen oh one.” I gasped hearing Eric’s call numbers. Dispatch repeated, “Thirteen oh one.” There was a pause before they continued. “Orange County dispatch, all stations be advised, thirteen oh one has reached his end of watch.” I howled in heartbreak, the words piercing me, the future we had planned was over in the blink of an eye. “Show thirteen oh one, ten seven, on January twenty-one, at fourteen hundred forty-six. You patrol the s
kies, we’ll patrol the roads.” The radio went off, the color guard moved forward, and then slowly they folded the flag that laid across Eric’s casket.
I sat, trying to prepare myself but I couldn’t. Nothing could prepare me as I stared at that box that held a shell of the man I had given my heart to, a heart that would never be whole again.
His empty motorcycle riding boots sat next to the coffin, along with his hat, and badge.
The sheriff handed me the flag. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Haines. Eric was a great deputy,” the sheriff said and then moved on.
Eric’s boots were placed by my feet, as the assistant deputy sheriff shook my hand. “I’m sorry for your loss.” He moved on, and the procession of condolences began.
I was there, giving typical platitudes: thank you, that means so much, Eric thought the world of you too. One after another, I spoke them as if they were a five-second song on perpetual replay.
The loud roar of motorcycles as they revved broke through the haze in my mind, and I glanced over and admired the beauty of their formation as, two by two, they drove off.
Slowly the people thinned out, and I figured that before too long, I was going to be alone. But to my utter surprise I was wrong. That night, my friends—my true friends—Stella and Leo were with me. Stella was curled up to my back, Leo at my front, the two of them wrapped me in a net of safety as we slept, and they said nothing during the times I woke and cried.
Vivian
I was in the final stretch, or as normal people called it, the reception. I estimated that in about thirty minutes I could sneak out and no one would be any the wiser. It wasn’t exactly as if I accepted the request to be part of their bridal party without reservation. Oh hell no, I asked the whole twenty questions, trying to get out of it. Did she have a sister? A cousin? How about her future husband, he have a sister? What about her second grade best friend? Anyone except me. I would have thought someone would catch on, word would spread that I was a horrid bridal attendant, and they would stop asking me, but no. I was a thirty-fucking-two-year-old widow. That alone should have stopped them. Obviously, since I was still being asked, no one cared.
My day sucked, and my night was slowly swirling down the drain. This wedding had me popping Tums and Stella texting me nonstop throughout the day. She was dying to know when the bomb would be dropped.
Some people never grew up; they settle into their comfort zone, whether it is cheerleader attitude in high school or like now, the bride with her eternal, sorority-sisters-for-life mentality. I didn’t understand it. Sure, we partied together and shared a sorority house, but when college was over and we went our separate ways that was the end.
This whole wedding had been a clusterfuck; two ladies I spoke to via Facebook and hadn’t seen since our ten-year reunion, were in some made-for-television-drama shit. They were best friends and best enemies, always trying to steal the other’s thunder—but all innocence, of course.
I glanced at my phone and smiled at the text that had come in.
Stella: Any bloodshed yet?
Me: No. No one would dare, it doesn’t match the color scheme.
Stella: You sorority bitches are too much for me.
Me: Bite me. We aren’t all catty.
Stella: Meow. So, has bitch 1 gotten even yet with bitch 2?
Bitch One was a bride last year when Bitch Two, the maid of honor, announced during her speech that they could share the date forever because she just got engaged, and then shows off the ring. Needless to say, she got applause and sort of stole the bride’s thunder. But the shocking part was that Bitch Two was stupid enough to ask Bitch One to be one of her bridesmaids.
Me: Not yet but some strange shit has happened.
Stella: Tell me.
Me: During the ceremony the flower girl dropped blue rose petals instead of ivory. No one knew who did it or took ownership of the mess up. Hell, even the speeches went off without a hitch. I give it to Bitch One, she is standing tall. Shit, gotta go.
Bitch One held a microphone as if she were going to eat it. I wondered, for the hundredth time, what I was doing there. I should be with Stella and the rest of the gang. Of all of my friends, they were the ones who stood by me while I fell to pieces after my husband was killed. Not to mention we all rode motorcycles, and we all got into some serious shit together. My true friends weren’t these ladies. Nope, my true friends were my gang and my sister-in-law, she and I were close and always would be, probably because we had gone through the dark together and survived. She and I had become friends in highschool, and she introduced me to her twin brother.
I tried to tune out Bitch One as she continued in her high-pitched voice, but I couldn’t. “We’ve put together a little surprise for the lovely couple,” she announced. Everyone in the audience cooed, but the bridesmaids who had also been in her wedding groaned. We were worried, and her words didn’t sound promising. Music started playing, a screen rolled down, images of the bride and groom flashed across as the song, “A Thousand Years” rang out. Okay, I had to admit, it was sweet. There were photos of each of them growing up and then more of them in middle school, high school, college, and as adults. But it was the last photo that truly baffled me . . . an ultrasound.
Bitch One put the mic back up to her mouth. “You might not understand why there were blue petals tossed today. Well, like you said at my wedding, when you announced your engagement during the maid of honor speech, we have something to celebrate together.”
“Oh shit,” I whispered.
“I’m pregnant, and we just found out it’s a boy. Surprise!”
The clapping was a slow roll, but I was done with this bullshit. I tossed my napkin down and headed for the door; I was so outta there. I was done with these petty-ass bitches.
As I walked by the bar that was nestled right by the doorway, I stopped and grabbed an open bottle of champagne. I needed it after this major clusterfuck. Before I took another step toward the door, I leaned back in and grabbed a second bottle just to be safe, then strolled for the elevator as I took a long swig off the first bottle. The bubbles tingled my nose, but the cool alcohol was as refreshing as it was welcome. I was sweating like a whore in church, with all of these damn ruffles.
Pressing seven, I tried to drink the entire time the elevator climbed. When the doors opened, I stomped to my room pissed beyond all belief. How dare these women use their weddings, a day to celebrate love, as a battlefield? I loved being married, and I was a good wife. God, I missed waking up next to him.
I locked my door and kicked off my shoes—one going left and the other going I have no idea where. Then I started to wiggle out of my dress. There was no way in hell I wanted to put one of these bottles down, so I did some fancy moves, like the shoulder drop, the twist, and even the pony, the only thing missing was music.
When I was finally free of the taffeta monstrosity, I did my best rendition of Tom Cruise in Risky Business, using my pantyhose-clad feet to give me a slide across the not-one-bit-shaggy, nylon-carpeted floor. I used the bottle as my mic and sang about some Old Time Rock ’N Roll. I kept singing and practicing my slide until I had finished the first bottle. I swayed a little before I tossed it to the floor, and then a brilliant-beyond-brilliant idea hit me: I needed to call Erin.
Ohh, I missed Erin so much. She was Eric’s twin sister, and since he’d died Erin and I still talked about everything, and I mean everything, just not as often as we used to. I was going to call her.
“Stay right there, don’t move,” I said to the second bottle of champagne as I set it on the nightstand.
“Phone, oh phone, where did I put you?” I called.
I wondered if I could yodel. “Phone-o-ne-o.” Nailed it.
There it was, I found you, you little fucker. I snagged my phone from the pocket of my dress and then turned back to the bed. Oh, head spinning. Carefully, I crawled onto the bed, grabbed the bottle of champagne that had been sitting all alone, and took a sip before scrolling through my phone
for Erin’s number.
Aaron
Rolling forward on the balls of my feet, I lifted my arms and shot. The floor went quiet for the second it took for the ball to zoom through the air and swish through the hoop.
“All net,” my coach shouted.
Sweat beaded down my face, the salty tang as it coated my lips was a familiar taste.
“Great practice team, let’s end here. Get showered, the bus is waiting out back. See you at ten tomorrow.” Coach strode off the practice court. Lenny, one of the team hands, raced around gathering the balls while the rest of the team and I headed off to the showers.
Practice today had been relatively easy; coach didn’t want to run the risk of one of his starting players being injured and having to sit this game out.
“God, I need to get laid,” Dominic announced. He was a small forward, and it didn’t surprise me that this was always the first thing out of his mouth. “Yo, Aaron, you gonna meet us in the bar?”
“No alcohol before the game Dominic. You know the rules,” Coach shouted.
Vivian, Midnight Call Girl (Iron Orchids Book 6) Page 1
